The Mask

Sometimes I feel like nothing more

than the shell of clay

that I cast to resemble my face,

a parade of the products

from my overactive brain,

a facade of unabating

grey on grey.

I’ve crafted it this way,

but now this play of a face

is all I see in the mirror

or any selfie I take.

This mask has replaced any semblance,

any trace of a person.

Behind all the side eyes and cursing,

it’s all Terra Incognito to me.